


Limping Ahead

by SrebrnaFH



Series: Monday Fix-Its [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Empty Hearse, limited mobility, limp, london tube, psychosomatic limp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 06:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17934257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrebrnaFH/pseuds/SrebrnaFH
Summary: John takes the Tube to get to The Landmark, but there are some problems...Monday Fix-its is a series of one-shots (or two-parters) that take a piece of cannon BBC Sherlock and fix it so that JohnLock would happen. It won't necessarily happen IN the story, but it is the aim or each of these stories. HEA for our boys is the priority.





	Limping Ahead

**Author's Note:**

> Terribly late, I'm afraid, but it just wasn't coming together.

The leg hurt.

Like hell.

He knew the theory. He should not be feeling any pain.

He had been pain-free for two years.

Well, apparently his brain decided that since there is no Sherlock, John was entitled to some other pain in the ass. Or, in this case, a hip.

He knew he should go to a doctor, but the bloody thing always acted up when he was outside and calmed down when he was already sitting in the waiting room. And presenting some poor, overworked colleague with a puzzle of "leg that hurts but not always" seemed like both a waste of time and a rather humiliating exercise.

And now here he was, sitting on a small bench on the platform and thinking about life. Mostly about the life upstairs, above him. In that place he would never be able to join now - or at least not in a reasonable time - since his leg decided to act up in the most idiotic fashion.

Not only it hurt when he stood on it, which was a sensation he got used to (again) but is also hurt when it was up, away from the ground.

Which sucked.

Especially when he was on his way to a date.

And there was a slight problem with the lifts.

He was not going to even try working his way up out of there.

Maybe it was a sign.

Maybe it was all just a complete mistake and he should go home, pack and finally get on with his life - alone? If he couldn't even walk upstairs to meet his... whatever she was.

He pulled the mobile out and meditated over the content of the text he should send.

 

_Stuck on the tube. No idea when_

_I'd be able to get there. I'll_

_text them and call the reservation_

_off. So sorry. I'll see you later._

_\-- J_

 

There. And a text to the Landmark - they had their advance already, they'll be happy to have the table ready for another guest.

His shoulders slumped and he twirled the cane in his hands mindlessly. The cane. The leg. The shoulder. The dead friend. All these things defined him, described him, limited him - by the sheer _lack_ they represented. Lack of independence. Lack of mobility. Lack of fine motor skills. Lack of love.

He never noticed when he let go of the cane and covered his face with both hands, trying not to be too obvious about his distress. People tended to ask stupid questions when they saw a grownup man crying in public.

The cane clattered somewhere on the tiled floor, but he didn't care. He didn't care. He was never getting out of this station. There was nowhere to go. Nobody he wanted to see.

His phone vibrated.

Probably a message from Mary.

What of it.

Nothing mattered.

Steps approached him. Probably the station guard to tell him to get a move on. He would have to board any next train and get to a station that would have working lifts or escalators. He sighed and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes in a painful attempt to stop the tears from coming.

It failed.

The steps stopped. Ah. His cane. The guard was probably trying to be unobtrusive but to ensure John was, in fact, the owner of the object.

"It's mine," he sighed finally, reaching for it blindly. "Sorry to bother you."

He was sorry. He didn't want to be a problem to anyone.

Maybe just... There were ways in which he could stop being a problem, in general, he could just take...

...the cane was placed in his hand and a pair of warm, long-fingered hands wrapped his digits around the handle.

"I hope you won't be needing it much longer, John," someone said and John's world suddenly quieted. All movement stilled, all thought ceased, all feeling quieted.

He could only hear his own heartbeat and someone else's shallow, nervous breathing.

He flexed his fingers.

"If I open my eyes, will you still be there?" he asked finally.

"I definitely hope so," came the answer. "And I hope you will open your eyes, because it's hard to board a train with one's eyes closed."

"I..."

"We _are_ just one stop from home," Sherlock remarked casually. "And the lifts there are all in perfect working condition."

John blinked to himself, experimentally looking at the man in front of him from a corner of his eye.

Well-polished shoes, a pair of bespoke suit trousers.

He squeezed his eyes shut again, fighting against the sudden onset of vertigo.

"How...?"

"I will tell you everything at home," the apparition promised. "Just, please, come with me. Come home, John."

**Author's Note:**

> I am taking a writing course and one of the tasks is to ask my readers to describe my writing style in 3 adjectives. I'd be grateful if you could provide this kind of feedback :)  
> (if you provided it already somewhere else - THANK YOU! :))
> 
> [You can find me on tumblr.](https://srebrnafh.tumblr.com/)   
>  [Or visit my blog.](https://fanfik.wordpress.com/)


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